The Shadow of a King (Shadowland Book 2) (33 page)

'Well, I knew you would be here, and you are late,' said Merlyn, banging his staff on the ground making the assortment of bones and shells rattle. 'I have been on your errand, calling upon the spirits to aid me in the demand that I know you are about to place upon me. You wish to enter Tintagel, and you wish to do so swiftly and without shedding blood.'

'Yes,' Uther frowned. 'I'm calling upon the debt you owe me to be paid. You know Tintagel; you must know a way that I might enter, a path that is little known or a tunnel beneath the rocks. You are familiar with the island, aren't you?'

'I am, Uther. I have passed time there, and I shall help you enter, but I will do so based upon one condition.'

'No conditions, Merlyn. We completed your quest; I fought your monster and we brought back your stones. It is not I that owes a debt, but you.'

'I understand this, Uther, but come… walk with me. It is not so much a debt to be paid as an understanding that I wish us to agree upon.' Merlyn started to walk along the narrow path close to the cliff and Uther followed. The Druid began to chatter firstly about the beauty of the day and the wonder of the elements that were so exposed around them. The energy within the waves and the breath of the spirits within the wind. Once they were a good distance from the chariots, he beckoned Uther to sit beside him upon a rock. Together they stared out to sea and watched as the clouds slowly parted and a brilliant ray of sunlight firstly lit the clouds' edges and then struck the water below in a patch of dazzling glory.

'I ask very little for the gift I shall bestow upon you, Uther. I shall help you to walk freely amongst your enemies, find your Queen and make your match; for the spirits have shown me that this is the way that things should be and how it may be accomplished. You ask of me to repay a debt, but I will aid you freely, with joy and happiness in my heart. I only require that should this union be blessed with a male child, that you allow me to be his tutor for the first twelve years of his life.'

Uther turned to Merlyn and looked into his brilliant blue eyes, trying to understand what he wanted, to see where the Druid was leading him. Any child he might bring into this world would need tutors, and Merlyn would, of course, be a natural and undeniably valuable tutor to his son, or indeed a daughter if he were blessed with one, as indeed he had been to him for many years.

'I would surely wish you to be a tutor to my son, Merlyn, if I were ever to have one. I would always have expected this to be the case, you do not have to make me promise anything, you know that well… and so I do not understand.'

'I shall help you enter Tintagel and gain your Queen… but your first son will be given over to my keeping from the moment of his birth… you would, however, be allowed to visit.'

'To visit!' Uther stood up. 'You want me to give you my son?'

'Uther, I want you to allow me to look after your son, to guide him as he grows so that he might become the King that can lead our people after you… you know, after you…' Merlyn waved his hands in the air as if wafting away a bad smell.

'Oh, wonderful… I think sometimes you forget that I am King.' Uther shook his head in disgust as Merlyn smiled up at him, then sat down.

'Am I truly going to have a son?'

'I didn't say that. I only said if… it may never happen… perhaps she won't even like you… or you may be unable to have children or…'

'Oh, leave me with some dignity, old man. I suppose that if you are able to get me in and Igraine is there… and yes, if she agrees to become my queen… then I suppose you being my son's tutor…' Uther smiled at the thought of having a son. It all seemed so impossibly far away if it were indeed ever to happen. 'Why not tutor him in Pendragon fortress, so that we can all be together, would that not…?'

'No, Uther.' Merlyn interrupted. 'If I am to aid you in entering Tintagel, then you must give over your first born son to my care from the moment of his birth. I will bring him to you several times each year so that you may come to know him, but he must be cared for by the Druids, it is most important if he is to become the King of all Kings. This is how the spirits will it.'

'Several times a year, that's good of you,' muttered Uther. 'You would have me give up a son that I have never seen, to hand over my newborn son…. this is madness, and I will not do it.'

'You will not be able to enter Tintagel without my help, and you will never take Igraine to be your Queen, this much I do know. This is the moment in time where the spirits have brought together all that is necessary to make this future happen. If you do not agree, then another future will take place. I will not pretend to you that I know what this future will be or what it holds, but I do know that it is a future where you and Igraine are not together. There will be no son, and there will be no King of Kings. Choose Uther and choose wisely.'

'You do not give me much room to argue. Nothing is ever simple with you, with Druids. You have manipulated me my whole life, and already you set out to manipulate my son who is not even born, not even conceived!' Uther stood and pushed his hair out of his face. He shook his head and then turned back to Merlyn. 'You owe me a debt, yet you repay me with this… this shallow choice, which is no choice at all.'

'It is true you have little decision in the matter, the spirits guide both of us in this, Uther. It is not me. I am just their hand. The choice is best for you, for your son, and for your Kingdom. Do I have your word and promise, Uther?'

Uther stared at him for a few moments, hating him more right then than he ever had before, or so it seemed. 'Very well, get me in and yes, you have my word.'

They stood and began to walk back to the chariots. Merlyn patted his hand on Uther's back. 'All is as it is meant to be, do not fret. I shall get you into Tintagel and you will find Igraine, all will be well.

'I don't know how you are going to get me past the Cornovii warriors that will be guarding it, Merlyn. I've been told that there is a very narrow pass, Tintagel will be very difficult to enter uninvited. Am I going to get wet?'

Merlyn smiled and skipped a few steps then peered over the edge of the cliff at the grey, pounding waters below. 'Wet… yes, possibly very wet indeed. That water does look cold down there, and rough too… could be quite dangerous, are you sure she's worth it?' He turned and walked back towards the chariots without waiting for Uther's answer, his shoulders moving as he laughed. Uther could hear him muttering, '…possibly very wet indeed.'

The forest was crisply cold. Uther looked up at Maude as she scanned back through the trees, her breath catching in the moonlight filtered through the leafless canopy above becoming a soft white cloud, ghostly in the near darkness.

'I do not hear pursuit,' he whispered, 'and I have been pursued through a few forests in my time. Did I ever tell you about…?'

'Shhhh…Sire, please.' Maude crouched beside him. 'We have not come far enough and will have left a trail across that field for someone to follow. They will come soon; we must keep moving.' She pulled him up onto his feet, and they set off again down the forest path that they could clearly see shining in the light of the moon, a silver trail passing through the black skeletal shapes of the trees. As they walked, Maude unwrapped a fold of cloth and gave Uther a cold hearth cake and then some nuts and dried fruits. Despite the cold he was ravenous. As he ate, he began to feel a renewed energy he hadn't felt in many months. He was by no means strong; he repeatedly leant upon Maude for support, but his mind was finding a clarity he hadn't felt in some time, and he realised he felt…better.

It was after they had walked for some time that they heard the beat of horse's hooves. Maude quickly pulled Uther from the path and they stumbled about thirty paces into the forest before slumping with their backs to a huge tree. It was ancient, its roots rising from the earth around them as if it had just been caught, frozen in the act of rising from the forest floor upon thick, gnarled fingers. As they gathered their breath from the exertion, Uther gazed up into the branches and felt the knobbly bark beneath his fingers thinking that Merlyn would probably know the tree's name and want to tie a scrap of his cloak in its branches. He closed his eyes and made his own request upon the spirit of the tree for its protection.

He was glad for the rest. The air was rich with the smells of the forest, rotting leaves, and wet earth, he breathed it in greedily, his senses continuing to awaken as if he had been asleep for a very long time. After the confinement of the Abbey, it was refreshing and welcome.

Two horses came at a steady trot. They passed without stopping, and Maude made to rise, but Uther reached out a hand and stopped her. He couldn't see her in the darkness, but he could imagine the look of question she was giving him.

'Wait,' he whispered, 'there might be…' but he didn't get a chance to finish before the sound of more horses, harnesses jingling, could be heard through the trees. These riders were moving slower, the sounds of voices speaking, drifting through the trees. Uther wondered what clues they might have left, in their haste to get away from the path, but all they could do now was wait and see. Thankfully, the searchers moved on, but again, Uther placed a hand on Maude's shoulder. He peered around the tree, rising up onto his knees, the sound of cloth rasping against the tree bark, loud in his ears, the riders had gone. Looking back further down the pathway, he couldn't see any others coming, but then, he reasoned, it was very dark. Probably best to keep still and wait a little longer. A sharp sound made him turn back to where the trail came closest. He felt Maude rise next to him. It was a bird. In the middle of the path was a large black bird, its head turning from one side to the other, its beady, black eye studying the undergrowth through which they had pushed. It hopped up onto a low branch, stared in their direction and gave a loud
'caaawww!'

 Chapter 25 
Tintagel

'They are priests, followers of the nailed God. They are likely to spit upon me, a Druid, and force you to sit with them while they chatter about miracles, fish and how they want to take you to the river, to get wet.' Merlyn frowned at the roughly constructed hut; a crude cross erected before it proclaiming that it was a Christian church, although it looked as if it would be hard pressed to hold the priest and ten worshipers. It had been constructed directly upon the well-trodden road and would be difficult to pass without making the Christians aware of their presence. There was no clear way to Tintagel without riding directly around it. In the distance, just a little down the coast, they could see the rocky Isle of Tintagel, the white foam of waves crashing upon its rocks, its slopes upon the top, green and dotted with sheep. Huts also covered the grassland and Uther was sure he could make out the highest part of the fortress, built upon the furthest side from them. More importantly, he could just see the wooden bridge that connected the isle to the mainland. It spanned the short distance allowing an easy passage over a difficult drop. It would only be a walk of thirty paces, but if the defenders decided to protect it, or to destroy it, which they could surely do quickly and efficiently, then the fortress was as good as unassailable however large the invading force. He sighed and drew his attention back to Merlyn.

'The priests won't spit on you. You have been in the company of priests many times, Merlyn, they are harmless.' Uther climbed back up into his chariot and held out his hand to pull the old Druid up beside him. 'The only risk we run is dying of boredom if we stay and listen to their stories, come on, up…'

'They are a disease upon this land, Uther. They invade and usurp our groves, our sacred places, they build their churches upon ground sacred to the Druids and claim it as their own. You should banish them all. One God…pah! I ask you, you who knows the truth of the spirits and the Gods, the many, many Gods who live amongst us and also in the Shadowland; how can you tolerate them? It may have been the Romans that killed most of the Druids; surely few remain upon Ynys Mon to pass on our ways, but these vile creatures are the spawn of Rome, and they have come to finish the task.'

'They mean us no harm. I choose to allow them here because I believe that every man has a right to follow his own heart. They will not destroy the Druids if you do not let them, be calm old man, it is surely beneath you to feel this way.' Uther flicked the reins and the chariot moved forward, bumping over the frozen rutted mud of the road.

'I have seen the future, Uther, this is what saddens me, and I do not like what I see.'

The three chariots rumbled past the small church and contrary to Merlyn's fears; no priest ran out to assail them, either with his teachings or with one of his bodily fluids.

'Uther will not be pleased.' Sir Ector looked up and down the shield wall and saw the line his warriors held was secure. 'He did not mean for us to attack.' The warriors, tired and bloodied, had now reached the fourth defensive mound, but it had cost them dearly. He looked back into the ditch behind and saw the dead lying in mud churned by hundreds of feet, coloured a rich red by the blood spilt from so many. He saw that the injured were helping each other back up and over the previous mounds, but it was not an easy journey. The frozen ground had been churned into a thick ooze, thawed by warm blood and the men and women of the tribes making battle. Many of those attempting to return to the forest camp were slipping and falling; others cried out in pain and despair at their injuries. He glanced back to the Dumnonii and Cornovii on the opposite bank. They were equally tired and their ranks fewer, but those remaining were still several thousand and were standing ready for the next wave of attack. Three lines of shields raised against the constant rain of slingers' stones that his warriors were hurling at them, the sharp sounds of contact loud in the air.

'Damn you, Gerlois, you stupid bastard,' he muttered. One more bank to go and then they would be at the fortress. Gathering his resolve, Sir Ector stared up at it, huge this close, the fortress of Dimilioc must surely be as big as the ancient fortress of Maiden. Warriors already lined the walkways at the top ready to sling their stones and throw spears and rocks as his warriors came within range, and they would be in range should they manage to take the final defensive bank. They were going to kill themselves winning these muddy hills only to destroy those who remained against the white walls. Uther was right, attacking had been madness, but they had been forced into the conflict after the challenges had escalated and groups of warriors had formed to fight. Shield walls had quickly followed, and before he knew it, they were assaulting the first mound. At the time, he had thought they had been winning, snatching a quick and easy victory, but now looking around at what the costs had been and what was still to be done…

'
Your Duc is a coward!
' Sir Ector pushed to the front of his warriors and raised his voice, bellowing over the incredible roar of battle. As his warriors saw he was standing alone and was trying to speak, the noise lessened enough for his voice to travel some small distance. 'Your Duc is a coward… he is responsible for all of this madness. Gerlois, you scum, you coward. You are killing our people. All of their deaths will weigh upon your spirit as you enter the Shadowland. The Gods and your ancestors will hold you accountable.' The noise lessened as more warriors on both sides stopped their fighting, yelling and screaming as they became aware that something new was taking place. In the distance from the outer edges of the battle the noise went on, but this close to the centre of the battle, it was becoming eerily quiet. Around him, the warriors made space as Sir Ector continued his angry calls, driven to this point by senseless death and suffering to call the Duc forth.

'Deliver the Duc, bring him forward. Do not let him shelter behind your friends, your brothers, and sisters; they are all dying for his wrongs. Where are you hiding, Gerlois? Fight with your warriors… come and fight me. If you are no coward as you say, fight me and let the good men and women of our tribes live.'

A murmuring filled the air as all within earshot of Sir Ector lowered their shields and spears. The stones stopped falling and on the opposite bank the Dumnonii and Cornovii warriors parted and Gerlois pushed through the ranks, to stand, hands on his hips, scowling across the narrow divide at Sir Ector.

'So now the old dog chooses to bark. Where is your master, old dog? Why does not Uther Pendragon come forward to challenge me, why does he send his cur? You will not take this fortress, Ector. You may reach the walls, but you will go no further and just reaching them you will incur a terrible cost. You know we will make you pay for every step.'

'And whether we reach the walls or remain here, you will never be allowed to leave your precious fortress,' screamed Sir Ector. 'We go no further, this battle is done; we are staying. We will wait for you to either starve or surrender… or you and I can fight, here and now, so that others may live, no one starves and none of our warriors become food for crows.'

Duc Gerlois stared at Sir Ector, weighing up the possible outcomes and choices left to him and then with a shrug of resignation, he took a shield from a warrior close to him, drew his sword, and stepped forward to slide his way down into the ditch towards the waiting Sir Ector.

The wind snatched Igraine's headdress and she watched as it fluttered away, out across the rocks towards the sea. She tried to gather her hair; it was blowing about her head in the strong, icy wind making it impossible to see properly. Once gathered, she was able to look out from the tower and observe the land and surrounding sea for some considerable distance; it was a magnificent view and she never tired of it. On the seaward side, dark, turbulent waters around the little isle spoke of violent storms taking place out at sea amongst far distant lands. She was not surprised there were no boats to be seen amidst the whitecaps that danced amongst the waves like white horses, rising and falling as they galloped, only a fool would take to sea in the winter season. Her gaze turned back towards the rugged coastland in its winter colours of grey and brown and just the barest shreds of green. There were a few patches of white on the cliff, lodged amongst the rocks where the snow had not been blown away. This was a cold and desolate place to be sure, but it felt good to be out in the open like this, even if it was so bitingly cold. She wrapped her thick woollen shawl more tightly about her and drew in a deep breath; she would bear it and stay a little longer.

Upon the isle below her, a few people from the fortress were set upon their errands, hurrying between huts, and further down towards the narrow bridge she could just see a group of warriors, they were huddled around a fire set against a large rock to protect its flames from the wind. Upon the mainland cliffs opposite, near the village, she could see two villagers. It looked like they were collecting firewood from a large stack, yes… they were gathering the branches into bundles. She kept watching as they heaved the bundles onto their backs and made their plodding way slowly back up the slope, bent under the weight of their burdens.

A strong gust rocked her forward and the whole wooden tower beneath her creaked and groaned as it moved in protest against the strain of the wind. Gripping the edge for support, she glanced back for reassurance from the two warriors stationed as lookouts. They were watching her, smiling.

'This is a well-built tower, Lady, it will not fall… just moves a bit in the wind is all.' She smiled and nodded her thanks and returned her gaze to the coastline, still unwilling to go back to the warmer confines below lest they think her scared. It was a silly reason to stay, she mused, she'd stay just a little longer. Movement further along the clifftop caught her attention and she tried to make out some detail in what appeared to be a small group of riders…. no, chariots, upon the coastal path. She studied them for a few moments, but then they disappeared back inland and were lost from sight. Visitors perhaps? A little distraction from the games and arguments of her daughters would be most welcome unless it was Gerlois. The thought sent a cold shudder through her that was nothing to do with the chill wind. She crossed to the stairway, the warriors lifted the heavy trapdoor for her and she descended into the fortress silently dreading the possibility that her husband may be about to visit.